How Clichéd
by romani-princess
Summary: Hermione's fallen. Hard. And quite frankly she's not too happy about it. It's so illogical, so inconvenient, so irrational. Falling for your best friend - how clichéd.
1. Before the Cliché

Summary: Hermione's fallen. Hard. And quite frankly she's not too happy about it. It's so illogical, so inconvenient, so irrational. Falling for your best friend - how clichéd.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and associated characters and events do not belong to me. They belong to the marvellously talented JK Rowling (published under Bloomsbury Press). They are being used solely for entertainment purposes and no money is being made from this work (trust me on this one). No copyright infringement is intended. Any original characters are mine, mine, mine evil cackle

Author's Note: The following story contains spoilers up to and including Order of the Phoenix (although I'm very tempted to change one particular event that cost me an entire box of tissues).

How Clichéd

Prologue

Hermione Granger had always considered herself a rather clever member of the wizarding community. Hell, who was she kidding, she knew she was brilliant. Seven years of being at the top of every single class she'd ever taken (with the possible exception of Divination but that really didn't count) and graduating with the highest grade ever seen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (an impressive 157 percent) had to account for something. Not to mention the three productive years she'd spent studying _Magical Perspectives in History_ at the prestigious Morgaine's Magical Academy. She'd given more than one professor a frightful shock when her final grades were calculated (actually, they were unable to completely ascertain the mark seeing as their system wasn't capable of dealing with marks over 213 percent).

Either way she was pretty sure that in the scheme of things, her intelligence was a force to be reckoned with.

So now, all she had to do was figure out how she'd gotten into this situation in the first place. She simply could not determine how someone with such an academic record – someone so logical and rational – could do something so illogical, so unreasonable, so … damn inconvenient!

It was quite a dilemma and Hermione was quite perturbed.

She didn't even know when it had happened. One day everything was normal and then it wasn't.

Suddenly every accidental touch sizzled across her skin. Every smile directed her way had the power to melt her insides into a gooey mush. Every sparkle in those dazzling eyes caused her knees to weaken and her pulse to race, and that was when he had his sights elsewhere – a Quidditch match perhaps, or the latest broomstick on display at Quizzing Quidditch Supplies.

Such hypersensitivity to one person could be fairly tiresome really.

Hermione sighed.

It had been dangerous from the beginning, she supposed. From the moment of their meeting on the Hogwarts Express to the next seven years, that eleven year old boy had become quite the man. They'd all had their fair share of drama in their years at Hogwarts and were thus all marked in some way or other. Some more than others – and all more than any child should have to deal with. But still, despite it all, he'd managed to retain a measure of the youthful innocence that had been so endearing back then.

And besides he was quite a wizard (magically speaking and otherwise). Quidditch certainly hadn't hurt his physique either.

Retrospectively, it was no bloody wonder something like this had happened. In fact, logically speaking one would have to comment on the fact that it hadn't happened sooner.

But still, why did it have to happen? She would have been perfectly happy to just remain friends – it would certainly have been less trying and mentally exhausting. How could she have let herself fall so deep, so far? She had let the situation get to this point and now, she was stuck.

She was, without a doubt, helplessly, hopelessly, recklessly in love with her best friend.

How illogical.

How unreasonable.

How inconvenient.

How clichéd.

tbc …


	2. Chapter 01

Summary: Hermione's fallen. Hard. And quite frankly she's not too happy about it. It's so illogical, so inconvenient, so irrational. Falling for your best friend - how cliched.

Authors Note: I was totally blown away with the amount of reviews. I honestly wasn't expecting that many so quickly. The introduction was purposely ambiguous but I did put in a few clues as to which best friend it was. The couple is one that I'm ridiculously attached to – often to the point of insanity, especially when reading the books and analysing every single bit of dialogue – and I don't foresee jumping ship in the future. It's my preferred ship; I like it therefore I (attempt) to write it. All shall be revealed in this chapter anyway, so enjoy!

Oh yeah – this story will actually have a plot aside from the romance factor. Really, it will!

as of 24/04 I have made this chapter a wee bit longer :)

**How Clichéd**

Chapter One

Friday afternoon had found Hermione sprawled on a wicker chair, a glass of iced pumpkin juice in one hand and a leather-bound book in another (_Hogwarts, A [Re-revised] History – Special Edition_), but she wasn't reading. Hermione had found that, to her great displeasure, today her attention span was not unlike that of a goldfish. She simply could not concentrate for more than three seconds before her mind wandered.

It could have been the heat, of course. It was hot enough to fry up a three course meal on the pavement outside and that kind of heat would be enough to distract even the most focused of individuals. Even with the many charms and magically enhanced air conditioning (spells courtesy of Mr Weasley) the hot breeze still assailed her every chance it got. Her hair was pulled up into a loose ponytail and her shirt was sticking to her back. Surely, her distracted state could be blamed on the heat.

But even Hermione wasn't so completely oblivious as that. She was well aware that, crippling heat aside, the most probably cause for her distraction was sitting a mere three feet away, nose buried in a glossy Quidditch catalogue.

He was sitting on the kitchen countertop, legs swinging against the cupboards below. His hair fell messily over his forehead. Every once in a while he'd run a distracted hand through the dark strands but to no avail. The unruly mess just kept right on falling back. There was a slight sheen of perspiration across his forehead, and the sunlight glinted off his glasses. People had been reminding him for years that he could do something to get rid of the trademark glasses, but he just laughed it off. He told them he looked better with them than without them.

Hermione knew this wasn't true. He looked good with them or without them. In fact, he looked good no matter what. Personally, she adored his glasses to bits (almost as much as the man behind them, actually). Made him look all sexy and intellectual.

Hmm, he was looking rather sexy and intellectual right now, as a matter of fact.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a blinding flash of light followed by a loud thud and a yelped curse. She sighed. Ron must have forgotten about the wards around her apartment and had attempted to Apparate inside. Again. He'd undoubtedly bounced off the shield (hence the thud and cursing) and was probably on his way to some remote location. She tried to remember the location rotation of the spell.

"Oh dear," she murmured. "I think I just sent Ron to Australia."

Harry Potter peered over the top of the catalogue, one eyebrow arched in amusement. He opened his mouth as though to speak but, before he could say a word, there was a loud 'crack' at the front door.

"Hermione!"

When Hermione hastily threw open the door, Ron rewarded her with an icy glare. "Thank you so very much for the trip."

Hermione bit her lip and stepped back. Ron's face was dangerously close to matching the colour of his hair and Hermione felt it prudent to get out of the way before he decided to forgo the greetings and salutations and whipped out his wand.

"Sorry," Hermione said sheepishly. "But the wards have been in place for months now. I would have thought that, after the last time you ended up in –"

"Antarctica," Harry supplied helpfully. For that he received a glare from Hermione (she didn't think he was looking so sexy and intellectual at that particular moment) and promptly buried his face back into the catalogue, biting back a smile.

Hermione continued. "Yes, Antarctica. After something like that, I would have thought you'd have remembered."

Ron just stood in the doorway and glared.

"Australia?" she asked finally.

"No." Ron snapped. "Worse."

Hermione arched an eyebrow in silent question.

"New Zealand."

It was all Hermione could do to hold back a laugh.

Harry didn't bother holding back – whether it was the incredibly offended expression on Ron's face or the fact that the lanky red-head had a number of twigs in his hair and a grass stain at the back of his pants was a point for debate – and he nearly fell of the counter in mirth.

Ron was less than amused.

Hermione shrugged apologetically.

Her younger years had taught her the value of a reliable security system, especially when one was friends with the most famous wizard of all time, and the first thing she'd done after purchasing said apartment (with the added help of her parents) was to whip out her wand and charm everything in sight. Literally. She was currently researching charms that would enable her to exclude certain people from the wards.

She was sure Ron would certainly appreciate the effort.

When she explained this Ron simmered down somewhat, enthusiastically promising to give her a gift courtesy of Fred and George later on. Hermione made a mental note not to touch anything handled by Ron that evening. She didn't particularly want to turn into a canary or develop an extra set of arms. Yellow feathers would undoubtedly clash horribly with her shoes and as for the extra arms … well, there were a few too many problems associated with _that_ particular thought.

Harry stopped laughing long enough to suggest that they depart.

"Yes, lets," Hermione said. "With Ron traipsing about all over the world, we're late enough as it is."

"Might I remind you that travelling to New Zealand was not my intention," Ron said, running a hand through his hair. "Nor was it my fault."

Hermione shrugged and waved her hand dismissively. "A mere technicality. Did I ask you to Apparate inside? No, I didn't. You could have come through the fireplace like any normal person."

Ron blinked. "Do you know how hot it is today? I would've been roasted alive."

"What's your point?"

Harry, having been privy to these little spats for a good number of years, smoothly stepped between Hermione and Ron and tapped his watch. "May I remind you both that we're dangerously close to missing out on supper entirely. The entire Weasley entourage is going to be present. Do we really want to miss out on dessert, too? I believe Mrs Weasley said something about chilled pumpkin pie and cream."

Ron and Hermione shared a look. They shook hands in a temporary truce – Mrs Weasley's pumpkin pie was to die for. There was nothing quite like it.

Hermione ducked into the hallway in search of her shoes. She slipped her bare feet into a pair of white sandals. She tucked her wand into the back pocket of her denim shorts and tightened the elastic band around her ponytail.

"Hurry up, would you!" Ron yelled indelicately from the front door.

Hermione grabbed her bag and keys from the hall table and said crossly, "Keep your knickers on Ron, I'm coming."

Finally, they were on their way.

When Harry and Hermione arrived at the Burrow, they were slightly surprised to find that Ron hadn't joined them. He Apparated beside them moments later. It turned out his trip to the Southern Hemisphere had put his sense of direction a little off base – he'd ended up in the next suburb over.

"Bloody witches," Ron muttered, glowering at Hermione.

It looked as though Harry was about to collapse into a (rather unmanly) giggling heap again, so Hermione briskly grabbed both their arms and arbitrarily hauled them across the yard to the front door.

As Harry had predicted, the entire Weasley family – including dates, fiancés, spouses, children and pets – was present. Well, it certainly sounded as though all were present. The trio were assailed with a boisterous wave of noise the second they opened the front door. (They were also assailed with a wave of very nice, very icy air, but no one had anything to comment about on that front seeing as they were too busy luxuriating in the cold.)

Ginny Weasley, the youngest of the seven, bounced up to them – yes, Hermione thought, she's actually bouncing – a huge grin on her freckled face. Ginny had spent her last few years at Hogwarts shooting up several inches and gaining a wit quick enough to rival that of her twin brothers.

She waved a perfectly manicured hand in front of Hermione's face.

Hermione caught the glint of gold and her eyes widened. "Oh my goodness, he didn't?"

Ginny nodded, her eyes bright. "He certainly did."

Ginny had also spent the last few years out of Hogwarts getting intimately acquainted with a particular Hogwarts graduate. One who was coming toward them right now, as a matter of fact.

"Oh!" Hermione squealed (yes, squealed – despite her assertions to logic and all that, she was as girly as anyone else in matters of matrimony). "Congratulations!"

She threw her arms around one slightly startled Neville Longbottom.

"Congratulations mate," Harry said, slapping a comradely hand across Neville's back. He swept Ginny up in a tight hug. "So he finally proposed, huh?"

"And she said yes," Neville said, grinning from ear to ear. By this time Hermione had released him from her bone-crunching hug and Neville slipped a possessive arm around Ginny's waist.

"About bloody time, too. I thought I was going to have to do it myself on your behalf." Ron declared. He grabbed Neville's hand and shook it rather enthusiastically. He then yanked Neville toward him and peered down at him through slitted eyes. "Hurt my sister and I will not hesitate to hex you into the afterlife." He loosened his grip and turned to Ginny, grinning widely. "And, having said that, I hope you have a long and happy life together."

Ginny rolled her eyes and returned the hug, but the smile never faded. "Thanks," she said wryly. She then reclaimed her fiancé from her brother's ardent grip. She gestured toward the kitchen. "Everyone else is around the back and Mum's in the kitchen cooking up enough food to feed the entire Ministry of Magic. She's been checking the clock every five seconds."

"Ron decided on an impromptu vacation," Harry told her. "Went to New Zealand."

"New Zealand? I hear it's lovely there this time of year," Ginny said matter-of-factly.

Ron threw his hands up in the air in despair and stalked toward the kitchen.

* * *

Dinner was quite the entertaining affair. Not only was there a fair deal to catch up on, but there was a fair deal of drama too.

Fred and George were running about and fulfilling every wish and whim of their respective other halves (so to speak). Meghan and Karina Weasley (formerly Taylor), dark haired, blue eyed fraternal twins and generally affable women, were both very pregnant and very hot and therefore somewhat cranky. A mix which certainly didn't bode well for their red-haired husbands. But being the easygoing pair that they were, Fred and George took everything in stride.

Fred was currently piling up a plate with an interesting assortment of diced tomatoes, segmented oranges, and (naturally) sliced pickles topped with gravy. Truth be told, he looked a little nauseated at the sight. George was picking through a salad and removing all the mushrooms (Karina was going through an awkward phase and threw up at the mere scent of mushrooms).

Charlie and Janna were attending to their two little girls, seven year old Sammi and three year old Maddi, who were earnestly intent on making mud pies and partaking in the taste tests too. Jenna was absently plucking the offending pies out of the girls' hands while chatting animatedly to Ginny and Charlie was just as absently patting their faces clean. Beside them, Mr Weasley was enthusiastically offering to show Neville his newly acquired Muggle game, Twister, later on in the evening.

At the far end of the table, Mrs Weasley was earnestly discussing possible seating arrangements with Fleur Delacour – soon to be Weasley – while her fiancé, Bill, just as earnestly discussed the current Quidditch season with Harry and Ron.

And Percy was stalking about the garden because his wand had unexpectedly turned into a rubber chicken. It was quite a pity that Fred and George were otherwise occupied or they could have observed the result of their handiwork with a great deal of amusement.

Hermione was simply content in soaking in the festive atmosphere.

She always enjoyed these little soirées at the Burrow. Here the outside world didn't matter. It was just one big happy family enjoying each other's company. She was a part of it, and so was Harry, despite not having any actual official familial ties. All the pain, all the happiness, everything they'd been through together meant they were joined for life.

Just like you can't save someone from a troll and not become the best of friends, you can't fight a Dark Lord together and not become family. Not that her mum and dad hadn't been a part of that struggle – they'd been there, every step of the way (in a supportive sense more than a literal sense) and she was more than grateful. They'd even met Harry on more than one occasion – and dropped ridiculous hints which, quite frankly, didn't seem all that ridiculous anymore.

And we're back to Harry, Hermione thought wryly. Why was it that every single thing in her life went right back to that messy haired, green eyed wizard? The very same wizard that had stolen her heart.

And the heart of half the female wizarding population, incidentally.

At school, most of the students had become enamoured with him by fourth year (incidentally boy and girl alike). Fifth year was touch and go seeing as most people thought he was nuts for most of the year. Sixth year … oh yes, that's when it all began to get a little psychotic.

Girls, girls, girls.

Harry couldn't take a step sideways in the corridors without encountering a breathless girl – Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, even the occasional Slytherin – eager for a date (to Hogsmead, the Great Hall, a broom closet, their bedroom – they really weren't too fussed). In Gryffindor Tower, it was even worse. At the end of the first term, the professors had to charm the staircase to the boys' dormitories with the same charm as that on the girls. For a few weeks afterward, that particular staircase was exceedingly dangerous, particularly during the early hours before dawn.

Oh yeah, so not only had she fallen for her best friend, but she'd also fallen for the one wizard that every witch wanted.

"Perfect," she muttered into her salad.

"Not really," Harry said suddenly, interrupting her melancholy thoughts. "It's a little wilted."

Hermione whipped her head around so fast she nearly got whiplash. She stared at Harry as she tried to ascertain what on earth he was talking about. Finally, she uttered a rather inarticulate, "What?"

Harry laughed. "Never mind," he said. He took a sip of his pumpkin juice and turned toward her. "What's wrong, Hermione? You've been awfully quiet this evening."

"Just thinking."

"Anything interesting?"

"Oh yeah," Hermione said unthinkingly, her tongue darting out to run across her upper lip.

Harry's eyes widened slightly in amusement and mild interest. "Really?" He leaned back in his chair and regarded her silently, one eyebrow raised. "Care to share?"

Hermione shrugged one shoulder, seemingly nonchalantly, but inside she was panicking up a storm. She could feel a flush staining her face. "Of course not," she replied flippantly. "A girl's gotta have some mystery."

Harry was silent for a long moment as he looked at her contemplatively. "Hermione," he said slowly. He bit his lip as though in deliberation. "I don't think you need to worry about that. You're one of the most mysterious girls I know."

His mouth curved in a slow smile. His green eyes sparkled mischievously.

Then he turned back to Bill.

It took Hermione a whole minute to recover from that smile. And those eyes.

Well, she decided rather laconically, she certainly wasn't going to get any sleep at all tonight.

But a part of her couldn't help wondering if maybe, just maybe –

Oh great, Hermione thought, cutting off her own rather preposterous thoughts. Now I'm delusional. What else?

* * *

What else indeed.

Hermione's earlier sentiments had proved correct. She hadn't gotten any sleep that night.

In fact, in light of all the very unnecessary mental trauma, she didn't think she'd be getting any sleep for the next several weeks.

It was just past four o'clock in the morning when she heard the first thump. Hermione, for whatever reason, had always been a light sleeper. The slightest noise was usually enough to wake her. This had not been a positive attribute to have seeing as her roommates were always excessively loud and, such was her luck, usually insomniacs to boot.

It took her a moment to adjust to her surroundings and, for a brief second, she didn't know where she was. Then her mind cleared and she remembered. She was still at the Burrow, in Ginny's room if her memory served.

After a successful dinner, in which all parties concerned arbitrarily stuffed themselves on Mrs Weasley's fabulous cooking, Mrs Weasley had happened to glace at her watch. And she let out a startled gasp. It was almost three in the morning and "goodness, I haven't even done the dishes yet!" She'd then proceeded to whip out her wand and order everyone to bed – regardless of whether they actually lived there or not.

Fred and George were particularly vehement in their arguments, declaring that they could take the next Portkey to Hogsmead. However, their arguments were rather swiftly overturned by the fact that Meghan and Karina had fallen asleep on the couch and the tiny inconvenience of the Portkey network being inoperational for at least another four hours (due to the hormonal changes in the body, pregnant witches were not allowed to Apparate or Disapparate cross country).

"You're all exhausted," she'd informed them sternly, waving her wand about in a rather scary manner. "I will not have you Apparating anywhere at this time of night … erm, morning."

Hermione was actually somewhat relieved; the day had been rather hectic and she was absolutely exhausted. Judging from the yawns and bleary eyed gazes on the people around her, not many were up for Disapparating anyway.

Knowing that arguments would be ultimately fruitless – Mrs Weasley was glaring around in her I-am-a-Mother-and-therefore-know-what-is-good-for-you look – all remaining guests tramped upstairs to the upper levels of the house. At first, Hermione had to wonder how Mrs Weasley was planning to accommodate so many people. While the Burrow had certainly been extended during the last several years, what with additions for the quickly expanding numbers – Weasley's, spouses, children and pets – it didn't seem to hold the capabilities to house everyone that was still there.

But Mr Weasley stepped in and, with a wave of his wand and a few muttered incantations, expanded the current living areas and added a few extra walls for privacy. By the time Mrs Weasley had finished with the dishes, everyone was firmly ensconced in bed.

Hermione was out the moment her head hit the pillow.

And she'd been asleep for less than an hour, for the love of Merlin. One bloody hour, and now, she was wide awake. The first thing she noticed was the stifling heat. The early hours of morning apparently did little to alleviate the extreme temperatures and it was possibly as hot now as it had been at noon the day before. A sideways glance showed that somebody had opened the window; the excessively warm breeze filtering inside was probably cancelling out Mr Weasley's Freezing Charms.

She had just pulled the window shut when she heard another thump, this time accompanied by subdued voices, and she quickly remembered what had awoken her in the first place.

Hermione swept her gaze around the room, trying to ascertain what was so … ah, that was it. Ginny's bed was empty. In fact, the patchwork quilt was barely rumpled and looked as though it hadn't even been slept in. Which was certainly strange seeing as Hermione distinctly remembered Ginny bouncing on the bed earlier in her pyjamas.

She yawned sleepily and, with a shrug, moved back toward the bed intent on going back to sleep, strange thuds and murmurings be damned. It was probably just one of the twins out to sate a craving for pickles and ice cream or something similar.

There was another thud followed by a muffled yell; Hermione tiptoed toward the door, her natural inquisitiveness taking complete control.

How much noise could a pickle make, anyway?

She cracked the door open a few centimetres and stuck her head around, peering up the hallway through the gloom. Years of breaking school rules in the dead of night had sharpened her sense somewhat and feeling awfully like a James Bond castaway, she crept down the carpeted hall, hearing every miniscule creak of the floorboards.

When she reached the stairs, she saw the glimmer of light coming from the direction of the kitchen. From the flickering quality of the light, she realised that it couldn't be wand light or the overhead lights.

She hurried down the stairs, incredibly curious at this point.

The kitchen door was ajar and the noises were definitely coming from there. She hesitated, her hand hovering over the doorknob. For a moment there was silence and Hermione fully considered going back to bed, and then, she distinctly heard Ginny's frightened voice, loud and clear in the silence.

"Oh my god!"

Without a second thought, Hermione flung open the door, her hand going automatically to her back pocket for her wand.

It was at the point that Hermione realised several things.

One, she didn't have her wand. She had the distinct impression it was still upstairs on Ginny's bedside table. Two, there were candles floating about the kitchen, the flames flickering and dancing in the darkness. And three, Ginny had not cried out in fright – in fact, the petite red head appeared to be anything but frightened.

"Oh my god!" Hermione yelped, taking a startled step back.

Ginny was sitting (no, she was more reclining really, Hermione's analytical side said) on the kitchen table, with a very red faced Neville pressed up against her. They were both more or less clothed (less rather than more if Hermione were to be really precise) but there was still an awful lot of flesh showing. Flesh that Hermione really didn't want to be seeing.

"Merlin's beard!" Neville cried, almost falling off the table.

Ginny's face grew scarlet and she let out a strangled moan. Hermione couldn't be sure if it was because of the awkward circumstances or because Neville had shifted sideways. She didn't particularly want to find out, though.

She slapped her hand over her eyes and backed toward the door. "I'm so sorry! I thought you were – I thought that – I … I'm gonna go now."

Hermione whirled around, fully intent on leaving, and promptly slammed into an immovable wall. A strangely warm and smooth immovable wall. Thinking that she'd somewhat miscalculated her exit, she cracked open one eye and peeked through her fingers. It was a bare chest – and a rather attractive one at that, she couldn't help but notice.

"Oh my god," Neville said loudly; Hermione assumed it was because he'd spotted the new arrival.

"Woah," Harry whistled – he was the owner of said attractive chest that was currently impeding Hermione's progress out of the kitchen and away from this nightmare – peering over the top of her head at the couple.

"Oooh, that's been imprinted on my retina," Hermione moaned, all the fight having gone out of her, and unwittingly leaned her head against his chest. "Hello Harry."

"'Morning Hermione," he said, still not taking his eyes off the flushing couple on the kitchen table. After a while, he apparently came to his senses somewhat and grabbed Hermione's shoulders. "We'll just … ah, leave you to it." And as he prepared to turn them around –

– Everyone froze as the kitchen door swung open. Again. Hermione expected another rush of embarrassed exclamations, but there were none. Instead, there was complete silence.

Three sets of eyes turned to the newcomer. Hermione stood on tiptoe and peered over Harry's shoulder. Then she looked back at Neville and Ginny, who looked absolutely horrified (Neville actually looked ready to faint dead away and Hermione really couldn't blame him at this point).

Ron stood, framed in the doorway, a horrified look on his face. He paled, turned slightly green, and then finally settled on a rather alarming shade of crimson. He took a few steps into the kitchen and fixed Neville with a piercing glare. He held up a shaking hand and opened his mouth, clearly intent on giving the poor boy a piece of his mind. Several pieces in fact, judging by the look on his face. He floundered about wordlessly for a few moments, opening and closing his mouth, and then, with a hopeless look, shrugged. Clearly, words escaped him at this moment.

Hermione knew precisely how he felt.

"What is all that noise?"

The sound travelled clearly in the sudden silence, undoubtedly coming from somewhere near the first floor landing.

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin.

Harry, still rooted to the spot, whipped his head around, eyes widening behind his glasses as footsteps sounded on the stairs. "Mrs Weasley!" he hissed. "Mr Weasley!"

More universal freezing in place.

"Oooh no …" Neville groaned. Hermione caught the distinct sound of a zip and a thump as Ginny and Neville hopped off the table.

Hermione heard Ginny swear softly, eloquently and, surprisingly, in several different languages.

"In the pantry, quick," Ron said suddenly, apparently having found his voice. Before anyone realised what was going on, he'd ushered Hermione, Harry and Ginny in through the pantry door. He clamped a hand around Neville's arm and hauled him inside too, closing the door just as the footsteps started down the last set of stairs.

Hermione blinked in the sudden dimness, confused. "Ron," she whispered. "Why are we in the pantry?"

In the dim light she caught his brief expression of bewilderment before he shrugged again and said grudgingly, "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

A good idea? Hermione found herself pressed between shelves, Neville, and a very tall, very shirtless Harry Potter. She was inclined to think that it was an exceptionally good idea regardless of the circumstances, as far as good ideas were, in light of this very fact. However, as far as any rational reason for the five of them being crammed in a pantry in this particular circumstance, she was quite without a clue.

"They won't look in here," Ron said finally. "After all, who would?"

Who indeed. Hermione didn't even try to rationalise that comment. She then remembered something that had caught her attention before. "Ginny," she said, turning around as best she could to face where she thought Ginny was. "I had no idea you spoke Gobbledygook."

Ginny, who in the gloom looked as though she was now attempting to button up her pyjama top, nodded. "Oh yes, I had to learn it for an interview. In-depth profile on a rather prolific Gringotts goblin. Had an affair with a banshee."

Hermione nodded, mildly interested. "I think I read that one."

"Shh!" Ron hissed. There was a distinct sound as the kitchen door swung open.

"I heard somebody down here. I'm sure of it." Mrs Weasley's voice floated into the kitchen. There was a moment of silence and then, "There's no one here, Arthur."

Mr Weasley's hushed voice soon joined his wife's. "Oh, somebody probably came down for a midnight snack and left the lights on."

"With candles, Arthur?"

"Dear, it's late. I'm sure it was just one of the twins. Meghan and Karina are experiencing frightful cravings at the moment. Fred and George have been magicking in exotic foods all day. In all likelihood one of them wanted a sandwich."

Mrs Weasley sighed. "I'm sure you're right."

"Of course I'm right," Mr Weasley said. After a beat, he said in a low voice, "But it is romantic, isn't it? And everyone's asleep, aren't they …?"

There was some shuffling and then, Mrs Weasley's muffled cry, "Oh, Arthur, you sly dog!"

"Oh," Ginny muttered. "I can't believe this!"

In the silence of the pantry, everything said in the kitchen was abundantly clear. More shuffling about, a few more stifled cries, the distinct rustling of clothes … If Hermione hadn't been enjoying such a close proximity to Harry, she probably would have gotten decidedly nauseous.

Did the entire household have to choose tonight of all nights to indulge their sexual urges?! Couldn't they have waited a night or two?

"Oh, Arthur!" Mrs Weasley said suddenly, breathlessly. "Not here."

"You're quite right, dear, the kitchen certainly isn't appropriate," Mr Weasley replied, also sounding rather breathless.

"Thank god," Harry whispered under his breath. He was standing right behind Hermione and, seeing as in the cramped confines of the pantry each person had a good two point four square centimetres to themselves, was thus very close. His breath ruffled her hair.

A tingle raced upper her spine. For whatever reason, Mr Weasley hadn't deemed it necessary to implement the cooling charms inside the pantry (one can only assume he'd never expected a party of five to be ensconced in there) and so it was already ridiculously hot in there. Hermione felt the temperature increase noticeably. She took a reflexive step backward.

And right into Harry.

His hands came up automatically, settling on her waist. "Steady," he whispered, leaning down slightly.

She couldn't do anything but nod mutely; there really wasn't any space to do anything else. And actual words were certainly out of the question seeing as they were all currently in a pantry and all, but Hermione felt that she probably wouldn't have been able to articulate anything anyway.

Her heart was beating incredibly fast. She almost passed out as his fingers moved slightly against her waist. In her befuddled state, she took a moment to wonder at the fact that he had yet to remove said hands. Perhaps –

"Upstairs, Arthur, come on …" Mrs Weasley said insistently, sounding very loud all of a sudden.

Mr Weasley apparently made no objections to this; there was another giddy giggle from Mrs Weasley and then a distinct click as the kitchen door finally slipped shut.

All present in the pantry let out a sigh of relief.

And then fell into a stunned silence. Strangely enough, nobody even considered leaving the pantry.

Ron looked too traumatised. Neville was very round eyed, his arm around an uncharacteristically silent and staring Ginny. And Hermione and Harry … well, Hermione decided that, should they have to remain right where they were, she certainly wasn't going to complain!

"Oh my god," Ron said finally in a strangled sort of voice. Hermione's eyes had adjusted to the dark and she noticed that Ron looked decidedly revolted. "Did they – did I – they just … Oh my god …" He buried his face in his hands (no mean feat considering their current position).

"I'm going to need a lot of therapy," Ginny said slowly. "A very lot. Lots and lots."

Neville's arm tightened around her shoulders. "Honey," he said, "at least they're your parents. How am I ever going to look at them ever again? What am I going to think about when you're being led down the aisle by your father?" He suddenly looked blatantly traumatised. "Oh my god."

"I was more than willing to believe in the stork," Ginny said mournfully, apparently not having heard a single thing. "Or even the enchanted cabbage patch!"

Hermione, momentarily distracted, looked up. "Cabbage patch? That's a Muggle story, too."

"Shh," Harry murmured, his face now very close to hers. His fingers were tracing distracted circles against her skin.

Hermione actually felt her insides turn to mush and, very unconsciously, relaxed against him.

At that point, the pantry door swung open. Hermione and Harry jerked apart, knocking into Neville as they did so. His hands hurriedly slid off her waist; Hermione felt her face heat up.

"Erm …" Fred, usually on hand with a suitable reply for any occasion, paused, hand on the doorknob, apparently speechless. His eyebrows rose until they were in danger of disappearing into his hair and he blinked.

"For Merlin's sake, Fred," George said, striding over to the pantry. "I asked for essence of Newt, not eggs …" He trailed off as he reached Fred's side. He blinked too.

Hermione could only imagine what they were thinking. It was the early hours of morning and their younger brother and sister, her fiancé, plus Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were in a pantry, blinking against the sudden light. Two sets of identical brown eyes whipped around to rest on the occupants of the pantry one at a time.

Ron's expression hovered somewhere between utter horror and revulsion. Neville's reaction did not fall far from this. Ginny looked decidedly nauseated. Harry was looking very distracted and slightly furtive. Hermione was flushing crimson. Fred and George shared a glance and then turned their gazes right back to the pantry.

"Taking a midnight stroll, I see," George said after a very long moment. His eyes flicked toward Ron and he said, "Pass me the peanut butter."

Now it was Ron's turn to blink. "What?"

"Peanut butter," George said, pointing to a location above Ron's left shoulder. "Goes great with banana and tomatoes, I hear." He looked pensive for a moment. "But considering what Karina's been eating lately, it probably goes great with Percy's meatloaf, too, and we all know how wonderful _that_ is. Now, peanut butter, please."

Ron mutely reached up and passed him the peanut butter.

"And would you mind handing me that bar of chocolate, Harry," Fred said, gesturing at the shelf. "Meghan wants a sandwich."

Harry passed him the chocolate.

"Thank you," the twins said and, as one, nonchalantly shut the pantry door.

There was a full minute of silence before Ron looked around at everyone.

Hermione looked down at the floor and bit her lip. Her thoughts were racing around and around; she sighed as any lingering inclination to sleep stepped out the door and ran screaming down the street.

"Y'know," Ron said conversationally, momentarily breaking her concentration, before burying his head into his hands again. "I don't think I can take much more of this."

Hermione couldn't help but agree.

tbc …

Oh, and I added a disclaimer and spoiler warning to the Prologue. I won't bother putting one up on every single chapter cause honestly, if you don't realise that the characters do not belong to me, then you're probably a bit batty anyway.

Just for the record, I have absolutely nothing against New Zealand. It's a beautiful country and I'd love to go there one day – but I just couldn't resist. I'm not American so I'd feel wrong doing selfsame to the Canadians. Since I'm an Aussie, I settled for New Zealand :)


	3. Chapter 02

Summary: Hermione's fallen. Hard. And quite frankly she's not too happy about it. It's so illogical, so inconvenient, so irrational. Falling for your best friend - how cliched.

Authors Note: I made Chapter One a little bit longer … okay, a lot longer, because I felt that more stuff had to happen at the Weasley's. I'll try to get Harry and Hermione into as many more cliché-ish situations as I can (I certainly haven't got a lack of material in that department :). Feel free to offer suggestions.

On a side note, I'm trying to keep this as close to canon as possible, as well as remain in character. I once read an article that said that you cannot write H/Hr fluff because any fluff wouldn't be in character. I disagree. For one, we know nothing about how either would react in an adult relationship with each other, because we simply haven't been shown that kind of situation in the books. I think that H/Hr can be as fluffy as the next couple and stay in character (as far as my interpretation goes). But if you do happen to see a totally OOC moment or think any of the characters are acting particularly psychotic, please don't hesitate to tell me. I can take it!

Also, on the subject of keeping with canon, I realise that I can't completely illustrate the characters with all their experiences of their 6th and 7th year as well as the events leading up to the fall of Voldemort (any stuff pertaining to those circumstances will be conveniently glossed over), because I simply cannot imagine what JRK has in mind for those years. All you have to know is that Harry defeated Voldy at the end of 7th year and – well duh – survived. Since this is a rather light-hearted interpretation, I will be keeping the angst to a minimum.

**How Clichéd**

Chapter Two

Hermione was right. She didn't get a wink of sleep.

She'd traipsed upstairs with a red-faced Ginny – who was looking everywhere but at her brother – followed by an eerily silent Ron, a seemingly bemused Harry, and a very flushed Neville. Ron seemed to have forgotten Ginny and Neville's predicament and was more than happy to be led back to his room, still somewhat catatonic. The poor boy was clearly traumatised so Neville was safe for the moment.

It was almost five by the time they'd all gotten back into their rooms.

The second she'd gotten back into bed, her thoughts, already racing around with a veracity that surprised her, had only accelerated most inconveniently. She found herself flooded with the memory of Harry; the feel of his hands against the skin of her waist, his breath in her hair, his whisper in her ear … she was positively giddy with the recollection of it all.

It had only lasted minutes and yet the memories lasted the entire morning, at least until Ginny had sat up abruptly in bed at two o'clock in the afternoon, white-faced and wide-eyed, yelling something about storks and peanut butter.

Lunch that day – a rather late one that should probably have been classified as an afternoon snack (it was more of a banquet really, seeing as Mrs Weasley was cooking) – was certainly an interesting affair. Everyone was sitting around the table, looking decidedly bleary eyed and tousled.

Apparently there hadn't been a great deal of sleep happening the night before.

From the snatches of conversation that Hermione had caught, Charlie and Janna had spent the early hours of morning chasing after the girls who, having deprived their father of his wand, had then proceeded to turn the garden into a pseudo menagerie. Janna had spent an entire hour chasing a multitude of wild animals through the shrubbery while Charlie sought out the girls, who had disappeared after their exhaustive play session. He found them at half past eight, curled up in a corner of the upstairs bathroom, fast asleep.

Fred and George were unperturbed, as usual, and were as cheerful as they had been last night, although they did direct the occasional amused glance toward the five seated at the far end of the table. Meghan and Katrina were quite curious as to what had their husbands so amused, but were just too hot to pursue the subject.

It appeared that Bill and Fleur had been the only ones who'd gotten any sleep at all. Although Hermione wasn't too sure about that one either.

Blushing slightly, Hermione kept her gaze intently focused on her ice cream, studiously avoiding looking at Harry, who was on her right, and at Mr and Mrs Weasley, who were seated at the head of the table on her left. She knew that Ron, seated beside Harry, and Ginny across the table, were also peering intently into their bowls of fruit salad as though they held the meaning of life. Neville was staring straight ahead, barely blinking.

If anything, Neville had probably taken last night's events the hardest. He'd explained earlier this morning to Hermione that he wasn't expecting to be getting to know his future in-laws quite so intimately, especially not just after he and Ginny had been –

Ron had then – bless him – interrupted this conversation and Hermione, distraught enough as she was, had been ready to kiss him then and there. She didn't want to know what Neville and Ginny had been doing – she'd been lucky enough to walk in halfway through, thank you very much, and she didn't particularly want to relive it.

She hadn't really had a chance to delve into her own personal demons after that because, at that point, she'd been snapped out of her musings at the startled 'eep' coming from Neville. Ron had been stalking toward him, circumventing the couch, hands outstretched, and looking rather murderous. Hermione had grabbed Neville and promptly yanked him out into the garden and out of harms way.

"What do you think Neville?" Mr Weasley was saying. "Shall we do it in the kitchen?"

Hermione started violently and, trying not to come into contact with Harry, nearly fell off her chair. She couldn't help but look up at Mr Weasley, hand frozen, spoon poised above her ice cream.

Neville promptly spit out his mouthful of pumpkin juice. "Do … it?" he squeaked (rather unmanfully it must be noted). "In the … kitchen, sir?"

Ron, who was sitting directly across from Neville, choked on a grape. Ginny tightened her grip on her spoon and surveyed her dessert with renewed interest, visibly flushed.

"Yes," Mr Weasley said, completely oblivious to the various odd happenings around the table. "In the kitchen." Mr Weasley paused and, when Neville's answer was not forthcoming, he nodded decisively, an excited smile lighting up his face. "You're quite right, the kitchen is too small. We'll go into the living room. We can move around more, work up a real sweat. Perhaps the others might like to join us!"

"The more the merrier," Mrs Weasley added cheerfully.

Neville looked positively horrified.

Mr Weasley continued, completely unaware, "Sounds rather exciting, doesn't it?"

"Exciting?" Neville said shakily. "Very."

This time Hermione couldn't keep herself upright. In her attempts to curtail bodily contact with Harry – any contact with Harry, really – she slid sideways and off her seat. She landed on the grass and, momentarily stunned, blinked in surprise, wondering at how she'd lost altitude so quickly.

Harry was out of his chair and at her side in an instant, holding out his hand and biting his lip to keep from laughing. Unthinkingly, she took it and he hauled her up, steadying her with an arm around her shoulder. Hermione bit her lip and glanced around at Ron, then Ginny, and then Neville, who was still looking rather green. She caught the glimmer of a smile on Ginny.

Ginny gave a slightly hysterical hiccup and tried to cover it up with her napkin.

Ron snorted into his dessert.

This was enough to send Hermione completely over the edge. She let out a giggle, which then progressed into a full-on laugh. Ginny collapsed into hysterics; she dropped her head into her arms, almost burying her face in her fruit salad and laughed all the harder. Ron had tears falling down his face. Eventually, even Neville had joined in.

Hermione slid back down onto the grass, taking Harry with her, as they collapsed into a new fit of laughter (not unmanly giggles this time).

"Hermione, Harry, _children_," Mrs Weasley said, looking around at her cackling guests, obviously quite perturbed. "Are you all alright?"

"Don't worry, mum," Fred said nonchalantly from his place further down the table. "They're probably just sleep deprived."

"Yeah," George agreed, reaching for another banana. "All that time around the cereals and the spreads. Probably scrambled their brains a bit."

And the twins turned back to their conversation.

Mr and Mrs Weasley shred a mystified look. They certainly had no idea what to make of that particular comment.

Hermione took in the bewildered expressions on Meghan and Karina's face, the politely bemused expression on Janna's face, the surprised expression on Fleur's face, and the rather amused expression on both Bill and Charlie's faces, and launched into a fresh wave of giggles.

Finally Harry, calming down enough to help a hysterical Hermione back into her seat, said, amidst the continuing laughter of his companions, that "Yes, Mr Weasley, we'd be delighted to join you in a game of Twister."

* * *

Sadly, they never got around to playing. Mr Weasley was called back into the office at half past four, much to the consternation of his wife, who promised bloody murder on the Ministry wizards who kept him out past his bed time. (At the mention of bed time Neville had promptly dropped the glass he was holding and flushed dramatically.)

With the departure of Mr Weasley, Mrs Weasley had immediately summoned a set of seating charts from the bookshelf, thrusting the entire set of folders and loose bits of paper at a slightly frazzled looking Fleur. The older male Weasley's, having an inkling as to the excessive talk of gowns and shoes and ribbons and lace that would no doubt soon follow, felt absolutely no desire to stay and participate.

Fred and George had grabbed their wives, some provisions from the kitchen (pickles, ice cream, peanut butter, and bananas) and their bags, and retreated out the front door, declaring that they had a Portkey to catch at five o'clock in the next field over.

Charlie, still traumatised over being included in his wedding plans so long ago, blanched and whispered heatedly to Janna, insisting that the children were undoubtedly ill and needed to go home immediately. They decided to join Fred, Meghan, George, and Karina and followed at great speed, magicking Maddi into a stroller on their way out the door.

Neville quickly decided to partake in this universal plunge out the door and quickly made his excuses to Mrs Weasley (who had her nose firmly stuck behind a bridal magazine and was murmuring the occasional absent reply) and then proceeded to haul Ginny out the door, insisting quietly but vehemently that they never let Mrs Weasley within fifty metres of their own wedding preparations. Ginny, having been through three Weasley weddings already, agreed wholeheartedly.

Hermione, Harry and Ron took similar advantage of Mrs Weasley's distracted state and had Disapparated before the woman even realised her house had emptied rather dramatically in the last several minutes.

"We escaped," Ron said to Harry, leaning against the door. A spark of magic gave him a shock and he stepped back quickly, glaring at Hermione, who had Apparated into the study – the only place she herself could Apparate into – and was opening the front door.

She ushered them inside and waved her wand, muttering an incantation; the air inside grew noticeably cooler.

Ron and Harry sank onto the living room couch and placed their feet up on the coffee table. Hermione shook her head at the sight and disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing moments later with a jug of chilled pumpkin juice and three tall glasses following her.

After almost seven years, it was practically a routine.

She wasn't quite sure why, but since they'd graduated and become 'independent wizards' – Ron's words – and moved into their own abodes, her apartment had quickly become their unofficial meeting place. Whether it was because the modest two bedroom (second bedroom converted to a study) apartment was situated in Diagon Alley, within walking distance of the Leaky Cauldron and all things magical – or the fact that hers was actually clean – was up for debate. But whatever the reason, Ron and Harry probably spent more time at her place than they did at their shared accommodations. They actually spent so much time there that both had a key to the front door.

And yet Ron was still trying to Apparate inside. Would the boy never learn?

Harry spent a great deal of his time at Quidditch and probably only went home to sleep, and Ron spent any time away from work at Hermione's place, so their apartment usually appeared somewhat neglected. There was, at any given time, at least three months worth of dust floating about the kitchen (the least used room in the house – the stove had probably never even been turned on since they moved in).

She certainly wasn't complaining about the fact that they spent so much time together, but honestly, lately it had been extremely hellish. Just the idea of bringing a male wizard home was enough to make her cringe. Harry and Ron were protective enough as it was under normal circumstances, but when it came to her 'virgin purity' – again, Ron's words which were, admittedly, erroneous – they were somewhat fanatic.

Then again, under the circumstances she wasn't likely to be bringing anyone home anytime soon, was she?

But still, it would be nice to have a choice in the matter!

She distinctly remembered the first time she'd brought a wizard home. It had been the one night that Ron and Harry, despite having been absent that entire week for one reason or another, had decided to visit. They'd perked up immediately at the mere mention of a potential date and, while Hermione ducked into her bedroom to change her shoes, had questioned one Michael Malkin extensively.

She'd come out of her room, tucking her wand into her cloak, and found, watching television, a grinning Harry and Ron.

But no Michael.

And she hadn't seen him since. She could only imagine what they'd said to the poor guy.

Harry was perhaps better at the interrogation process than Ron, although admittedly Ron did get into the spirit of things a whole more than Harry did. All Harry had to do was remind said interviewee about his exploits (very modestly off course), drop a few names – the words 'Lord' and 'Voldemort', especially used in conjunction with each other, usually sent any potential suitor flying right back out the door without so much as a backward glance – and intimidate the beans out of anyone.

By the number of questions those two managed to ask in the space of five minutes, Hermione decided that one day she'd just help them out and provide a full questionnaire to every eligible bachelor who showed an interest. The very first question would probably be along the lines of 'Have you ever defeated a Dark Lord? And if so, could you handle an interview with the infamous Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley?" If the answer to part one were a no (it would be highly unlikely that anyone who _hadn't_ vanquished a Dark Lord would be brave enough to stand an interview with Harry and Ron), she could just cross them of her list and move on.

It would probably make life easier for everyone concerned.

Of course, the blame for her lack of a love life couldn't necessarily be placed on them. She wasn't exactly out socialising every Saturday night, nor was she involved in a great deal of activities that would promote such activity. She spent a great deal of her time at work, and whenever she wasn't there, she was usually hanging out with Harry and Ron.

And then there was her current situation.

Oh yes, her romantic prospects were certainly looking decidedly bleak.

She sighed and set the glasses and jug down on the coffee table, shoving off two pairs of sneakered feet in the process. She collapsed onto the floor in front of the couch and flicked her wand lazily, pouring out the cool liquid.

"Got any crisps?" Ron asked, grabbing a glass and downing it in one motion.

"Of course," Hermione said. "in the cupboard."

Ron looked at her expectantly. And then, when he received no response, he crossed his arms and said, "Well?"

"Get them yourself," Hermione said blithely. She turned her head and flicked on the television, studiously ignoring the dark look Ron sent in her direction. She grinned. "Try not to Summon Crookshanks again; he was rather disgruntled last time. It took me over half an hour to retrieve him from underneath the dresser after that particular episode."

"If you would be so kind as to remember, at the time of said incident I was distracted," Ron said defensively, flushing slighly. "And I was talking to Harry. It was a mistake anyone could have made."

Hermione looked at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement. A smile hovered at the edges of her mouth. "Oh yes, I can see how you can mistake a large orange cat for a package of shortbread biscuits."

Harry bit out a laugh. He winked at Hermione. "Yes, Ron, a very common mistake."

Ron shrugged dismissively, but his ears went red. "Oh, shut up you two."

Harry and Hermione grinned at each other. Hermione settled back against the foot of the couch, decidedly pleased. Harry smiled at her. That smile that told her they were still on the same side. Everything was back to normal.

Whatever 'normal' actually was.

Harry didn't appear to be harbouring any discomfort over the events that had transpired in the pantry (well, in regards to their actions – the _other_, slightly more disturbing, stuff was liable to reconsideration). Then again, Hermione reminded herself, nothing _did_ happen between them. At least nothing that couldn't be attributed to a severe lack of sleep and way too many distractions.

She sighed. She wasn't any closer to figuring things out that evening than she had been at six o'clock that morning. Hermione was not used to unanswered questions. It just wasn't done!

Hermione looked up, distracted, as Ron retrieved his wand from his back pocket.

Luckily for all concerned, Ron didn't Summon Crookshanks; instead, a large packet of crisps came zooming out of the kitchen and landed in his lap. As Ron stuffed a handful of salty chips into his mouth, Hermione wrinkled her nose.

"Remind me to stock up before your next visit," she said, her attention vaguely tuned into the comedy programme on television. "Every time you two come over, every scrap of food in the house disappears."

Ron mumbled something unintelligible around a mouthful of crisps.

Hermione was about to respond, but at that moment, there was a knock at the door.

"Hermione, it's me," Ginny yelled.

"It's open," Hermione called, settling back against the couch.

As Ginny and Neville walked inside, Hermione Summoned two more glasses from the kitchen. One narrowly missed Neville, who was visibly startled as a frosted glass whizzed a couple of millimetres past his nose. He flopped down between Ron and Harry.

"Pumpkin juice?" Hermione offered.

"Oh, yes please," Ginny said, sinking onto the floor beside Hermione. She fanned her flushed face. She was wearing plaid shorts and a white t-shirt, which was sticking to her back. "It's so hot out there."

Hermione nodded. Being British and thus being exposed to ridiculously low temperatures throughout the entire year, they were certainly not used to such excessively high temperatures. "That's the one thing that the magical world has in common with the Muggle world; neither can do anything significant about the heat."

Everyone seemed content enough to just sit about sipping pumpkin juice and chatting, until Ginny, who couldn't sit still for more than five seconds if her life depended on it, declared that she was utterly bored and wanted to do something.

"Anything at all," she said emphatically.

"Ginny," Ron said, attention entirely focused on the television. "It's thirty seven degrees outside. What are you proposing we do? Because if it involves actually leaving the apartment, then you can certainly count me out."

"Oh, quit whining, Ron," Ginny said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Of course we'll stay indoors. I'm not proposing that we pop down to the park to play a game of Quidditch or anything. But we could, theoretically, go somewhere that's not here and do something that's not this."

Hermione considered this for a moment. "It's certainly an idea. But don't you think we've had enough excitement this weekend? What with the family get-together and the … um …" she trailed off, seeing that Neville had gone rather green and Ron now had his packet of crisps in a strangle hold. She decided to take a little detour and continued hastily, "What I mean is does anybody have any suggestions?"

"We could play Twister," Harry suggested, completely straight faced.

Neville, if it was possible, turned a lovely shade of purple. The packet of crisps exploded in Ron's hands in a shower of crumbs. Ginny giggled helplessly, and in doing so, managed to choke on her pumpkin juice. Hermione pounded Ginny on the back, stared at Harry and made a slicing motion across her throat, suppressing a smile.

"Or," Harry said, unperturbed. "We could watch a movie."

"Hey," Ginny said, sounding rather excited, amidst a fair deal of spluttering and coughing. "Dad's told us about them. Aren't they like the telly programmes or something?"

"Or something," Hermione agreed, grinning.

Ginny had also spent the last several years developing a fascination for Muggle entertainment. She had recently become rather attached to soap operas, and could be seen regularly sitting in front of Hermione's television set, utterly enthralled.

She had the same interest in Muggle music. Hermione had even bought her a portable CD player with a selection of random disks for her last birthday. (In retrospect this, really, was a mistake, seeing as Ginny was now constantly humming along to Britney something or other.)

Even so, Hermione found it odd that she'd never shown Ginny an actual movie. She racked her brains … no. To her knowledge Ginny had never sat through a movie.

"Hey," Hermione said suddenly, getting a rather ingenious brainstorm. "Why don't we actually go to the movies? There's a cinema a few streets away from the Leaky Cauldron. There must be something reasonable playing."

Harry arched an eyebrow and glanced down at her. "You obviously haven't been following the Muggle entertainment news. From what I hear, there aren't any good movies on until early June."

"That may be so," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "But there must be something we can all watch."

"Oh yes," Ginny said, her eyes sparkling. "Lets!"

"It does sound interesting," Neville said. He looked well pleased at the idea of a distraction. "Gran never let me anywhere near the Muggle world. Said it was too primitive. Besides, I've never seen a moobie."

"Harry? Ron?" Hermione asked. "What do you think?"

"Sure," Harry said after a moment. "It's been a very long time since I've seen a movie."

Everyone looked at Ron.

Ron looked up, seemingly aware of everyone's gaze on him. After a long moment, he brushed potato chip crumbs off his lap and onto the floor. (Hermione glared.) "Right, before I agree to anything, I have to know one thing," he said.

Hermione looked at him expectantly.

"Will this involve walking?"

* * *

An hour later, Hermione felt that this entire thing had been a very big lapse in judgement. She hadn't considered the ramifications of her actions. And she blamed the entire thing on Harry – for being so adorable, for being continually on her mind, for just being _there_ … it was all his fault, damn it. She was no longer thinking straight.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. A night out in London with her friends. To see a movie. She honestly couldn't think of an activity that could be more innocuous or _normal_.

Of course, it wasn't until later that she realised that it was a night out in _Muggle_ London with her _wizarding_ friends. Friends who had, up until that particular point, spent a grand total of half an hour – if that – in the presence of real Muggles and outside the wizarding world.

Thinking back, she probably should have confiscated their wands before they left the apartment.

The group had set out of the Leaky Cauldron at a shuffle – with the weather, they weren't feeling up to travelling any faster than that – each rather excited at the prospect of doing something different. Ron had grumbled the entire way, claiming that to walk that far – the seventy-five metre stretch of road between Hermione's apartment and the Leaky Cauldron – was wrong and immoral.

Ginny had told him, none too politely, to shut up. Hermione had agreed.

It wasn't until they'd passed through into Muggle London that Hermione realised the possible catastrophe that awaited them. Her first hint of an idea gone wrong was the reaction that her companions had to the traffic lights.

"Wow!" Ginny said, looking up at the red neon letters. "Muggles are amazing aren't they, to be able to do so much without magic …"

And, having said that, she then proceeded to cross the street on the red light, hand in hand with Neville.

"Gin –" Hermione began, glancing up at the lights. "Don't …!"

Harry, with reflexes undoubtedly attained from his extensive Quidditch career, had grabbed Ginny by the back of her shirt and hauled her back onto the pavement. Neville looked slightly startled to suddenly be walking backward. A car whizzed by, the driver too intent on the road to pay much attention to the couple that he'd nearly flattened.

"My, wasn't that exciting!" Ginny said animatedly, her eyes following the progress of the vehicle around the nearby corner.

Neville watched the seemingly endless procession of cars speeding their way up and down the road. "Quite impatient, these Muggles, aren't they?"

Hermione suppressed the urge to bury her head in her hands. "Gin, I can't believe you just … oh, never mind!"

The lights flickered to green.

Ron was too busy to notice much of anything related to their conversation; he didn't even notice that his friends were halfway across the street. He appeared to be too busy ogling the scantily clad girls traipsing up and down the streets. Hermione rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand.

"Maybe we should've put them on a leash," Harry mused as he ushered Ginny and Neville across the street.

"Why didn't you think of this before we left the apartment?" Hermione asked blithely. Then she grabbed Ron's arm. "Come ON, Ron."

"Hey Harry," he said – allowing himself to be hauled across the street – grinning at a particularly vivacious blond who was walking in the opposite direction. "Perhaps we should reconsider moving …"

Harry glanced sideways at the aforementioned blond and grinned. "Perhaps we should," he said.

Hermione couldn't help it; her eyes narrowed dangerously.

The blond smiled back at the two men, her blue eyes sparkling. And then she tossed her hair over her shoulder.

Both Harry and Ron raised their eyebrows simultaneously and let out a low, "Whoa."

Hermione shook her head mournfully. "Oh, regressed back to adolescence, have we?"

"Never left," Ron replied cheerfully, his gaze rapidly flickering to the next attractive girl to cross their path.

Ginny and Hermione shared a look and despaired in unison, "Boys!"

Luckily, they managed to make it to the cinema relatively unscathed. It took a lot longer than it probably would have normally. Ron spent a great deal of the time walking headfirst into poles and walls due to distractions of the female persuasion.

In his defence, he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen so many girls in short shorts and tiny t-shirts. Wizarding robes allowed very little leg showing.

Ginny, on the other hand, spent a fair deal of time marvelling at the wonder of cars. After one particularly long dissertation on the wonders of Muggle ingenuity, Hermione couldn't help but say something.

"Ginny," Hermione said with infinite patience. "You've seen cars before. Your father used to own a car. The Ministry has an entire garage of cars. Why are these so bloody fascinating?!"

"Because they belong to Muggles!" Ginny declared.

Hermione couldn't bring herself to argue with that particular piece of logic.

Oh well, Hermione reminded herself. If anything, Ginny was certainly enthusiastic. Although the merits of that were certainly up for speculation – the moment they stepped inside the air conditioned cinema, Ginny was presented with an opportunity to use Muggle money. The poor girl nearly had a nervous breakdown on the spot.

"Really?" she said, looking at Harry in wonder. "I get to pay? With pounds and shillings and everything?"

"You can take care of the children, Harry," Hermione interjected smoothly, suddenly noticing that Ron was noticeably absent from their little group. She spotted him making a bee line in the direction of the popcorn and gestured toward him. "I'm going to make sure that one doesn't buy out the entire refreshment stand."

"Could I have one of those, one of these, some of that, and … one of those," Ron was saying, waving his arms wildly about as though he were directing a rampaging Hippogriff through a maze. "Ooh, that looks good too. I'll have two of those as well."

The girl at the counter – whose name badge said a cheery 'Hi! My name is Ashleigh!' – gave him a searching look before she moved away. As the confectionary piled on the counter, Hermione couldn't help but wonder how much of Ron's purchase would actually last through the previews.

"Twelve pounds, please," Ashleigh! said with a vacant smile.

Hermione dug into her pocket for her cash point card.

Ron held up his hand. "I'll get it," he said magnanimously, sticking a hand into the pocket of his jeans.

"Ah," Hermione said, arching a slightly incredulous eyebrow. "Will you? And you're going to pay with that, are you?" she said, looking pointedly at the handful of coins he'd pulled out of his pocket.

For a moment Ron looked confused; his brow furrowed and he stared at the eleven silver Sickles and five bronze Knuts in his hand. Then the realisation dawned and he glanced up at Hermione, smiling sheepishly. "Good point," he said. "Carry on."

Hermione couldn't help but grin as she handed the cash card over. Ron watched the entire transaction with wide-eyed wonder.

"Wow," he said as the girl handed the card back to Hermione. "Bloody brilliant, that is."

The girl looked up at him curiously.

Aware that they were currently being scrutinised, Hermione shot the befuddled girl a smile. "He's from overseas," she said by way of explanation. "They don't have cash point cards in, erm –"

"New Zealand," Ron supplied helpfully, with a flirtatious grin on his face.

"Ah," the girl said, nodding her understanding. Then she frowned and stared at Ron and Hermione.

Ron, oblivious to everything but the sugar laden snacks, he scooped up two packets of Maltesers, three chocolate bars, a package of crisps, and a massive plastic cup of soft drink.

Hermione decided to exit, stage left, as soon as was humanely possible. For one, she was running out of explanations for her friends' erratic behaviour. And secondly, she didn't want Ron to remain so near so much food; she wasn't quite sure how much money she actually had in her Muggle savings account. Making a mental note to check that on Monday morning, Hermione grabbed the remaining container of popcorn, then Ron's arm, and hauled him away, calling a brief thanks to the confused girl behind the counter.

"New Zealand, Ron?" she said once they were well out of earshot. "Of all places!"

"It was the first thing that came to mind," Ron said, shrugging. He shifted the mountain of snacks in his arms in an attempt to keep one of the chocolate bars from falling to the floor. It was balanced precariously atop the soft drink container and looked ready to dive off any second.

"We've got the tickets," Harry said, coming up behind Hermione. He reached over her shoulder and grabbed a handful of popcorn. "Sure you've got enough there, Ron?"

Ron was currently trying to take a sip of his drink without dropping everything else. "I can always come back for more, right?"

Harry laughed.

Hermione froze completely. He was still standing behind her and his breath sent a series of light as air sensations rifling through her damp hair. Resisting the urge to lean back into him (or pass out at his feet, whichever circumstance happened to come first) she titled her head sideways and caught his gaze.

"Where are Ginny and Neville? Don't tell me you've let them loose."

Harry grinned and shook his head. "Ginny likes Muggle money. She's buying popcorn, I believe."

"Because this certainly isn't enough," Hermione added ruefully, looking down at the excessively large container of popcorn in her arms.

"Hey, I'm not sharing that with anybody," Ron said indignantly.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

Harry noticed her expression and leaned close. "Hey," he reminded her cheerfully. "Try to keep in mind that this was all your idea."

"Thank you, Harry, for reminding me. Thank you so much."

* * *

If anyone asked Hermione if she'd enjoyed her evening, she probably would have declared that she had the time of her life. In fact, she had so much fun that she couldn't for the life of her remember what the damn movie was about. Hell, she didn't even know what they'd ended up watching in the first place.

And the reason for this sudden bout of amnesia?

She'd fallen asleep three minutes into the previews.

Well, with the night she'd had, she could hardly be surprised by this turn of events.

When she woke up, the couple on-screen were well on their way to a happy ending.

But that wasn't what had her practically faint with pleasure.

She blinked her eyes open slowly, momentarily wondering where she was. There was almost total darkness; the only light came from the screen. The cinema was more or less silent. She heard a few muffled sobs and the rustling of tissues.

Shifting slightly in the rather unusual comfort of her seat, she turned and buried her face in her –

– wait a minute. In her what? Surely she hadn't had the foresight to bring a pillow with her?

This time her eyes snapped open and she found herself staring at a white and blue checked shirt. And then she became aware of two things: it wasn't a pillow, and it most certainly wasn't hers. At least not to the extent she wanted it to be.

As her drowsy mind adjusted to her surroundings, she suddenly realised why she was so damn comfortable. Any girl would be excessively comfortable if she were sprawled on top of Harry Potter.

At some point, one of them must have raised the arm dividing their two seats. She couldn't remember either of them doing this – of course, she couldn't remember falling asleep on him, either, but that was really beside the point.

His arm was draped across her shoulders, pressing her against his side, his fingers swirling soft (but incredibly delightful) patterns across her upper arm. Her cheek was practically plastered to the front of his cotton shirt (it _was_ very hot tonight) and his chin was resting on the top of her head.

Hermione couldn't remember feeling so comfortable in her life.

And where was her hand? Oh, there it was, resting unobtrusively on his thigh.

Hermione resisted the impulse to leap up and bolt for the hills.

Instead, although it almost pained her to do so, she shifted in his arms and straightened up.

"You're awake," Harry murmured softly, letting his arm fall away from her shoulder. "Enjoy your nap?"

She pushed her dishevelled hair back off her face and glanced at him sheepishly, nodding slightly.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to do that. I didn't sleep much last night."

Harry grinned at her. "I imagine none of us did. For so very many reasons."

"I probably would have had nightmares if I'd managed to drop off," she agreed wryly. She stretched twisted around slightly and, in doing so, caught sight of Neville and Ginny. Her eyes widened.

Earlier, Ginny had taken a little too long to buy her popcorn, and so they'd arrived late. Apparently everyone in London (and probably all of England, too) had decided to catch a movie. The cinema was almost completely packed and, not finding seats to accommodate their party of five, they had been forced to split up.

Hermione, Harry and Ron had taken three seats in the second to last row. Ginny and Neville had taken two directly behind them, right at the back of the cinema.

And now Ginny and Neville had seemingly stumbled upon the reason most adolescents went to the movies.

"Didn't they get enough of that last night?" Hermione whispered heatedly.

Harry followed her gaze and smiled. "Oh, I believe they've been going at it for a while now." He then placed a hand on her shoulder and steered her back to face the screen. "It's too bad taht Ron's so engrossed in the movie or it would have been incredibly interesting."

Either way, it was still incredibly interesting. From the sniffling and tissue rustling, and the occasional giggle, Harry, Ginny and Neville had apparently settled on a romantic comedy for their outing.

And Ron, sitting on Harry's other side, was now dabbing the corner of his eyes with the collar of his shirt.

"Ron?" Hermione said, too incredulous to keep her voice down. She received several discouraging glares.

Ron, looking like a deer caught in headlights, blinked. He then straightened and said in a choked voice, "It's a very emotional movie, Hermione!" and went right back to sniffling in peace.

Hermione wordlessly handed him a tissue.

"Thank you," Ron said shortly.

Hermione stared at Harry, eyebrows raised.

"Oh, he's very deep," Harry said.

Hermione responded with a sudden yawn. She blinked sleepily, rubbed her eyes and yawned again.

"You're still tired," Harry observed.

"Only a lit –" Hermione yawned again.

Much to her surprise, Harry reached a hand toward her, settling his arm around her shoulder again and giving her a gentle nudge toward him. Hermione instinctively straightened up and pulled back, although she didn't have the faintest idea why.

"Come on," he said at her slight hesitation. "You're exhausted. Come to Harry."

She couldn't help but grin at the adorable smile gracing his lips. She leaned into his embrace, settling her hand on his stomach and pressed her cheek against the smooth fabric of his shirt. She felt his arm tighten around her shoulder and she smiled sleepily.

"You guys spoil me too much, Harry," she said quietly, snuggling against his warmth. "You should be careful. A girl could get used to this, you know."

"Only one girl, Hermione," Harry murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "Only one."

But Hermione, already half asleep, wasn't sure which Harry had said it. The real one or the one that lived in her dreams.

Her bets were on the Fantasy!Harry.

tbc …


	4. Chapter 03

Summary: Hermione's fallen. Hard. And quite frankly she's not too happy about it. It's so illogical, so inconvenient, so irrational. Falling for your best friend - how cliched.

Authors Note: Have decided to forgo my originally intended plot. It no longer fits in with the flow of the story. Enjoy the randomness. This chapter was also supposed to involve more stuff, but I realised that it wouldn't all fit. So the dress shopping is in the next chapter – as well as a rather entertaining turn of events.

**How Clichéd**

Chapter III :: It's a Boy!

Hermione leaned her hip against the kitchen counter, toast in one hand and a steaming cup of tea in the other, and stared moodily off into space. Her fingernails tapped erratically against the countertop and she was scowling slightly. She was happily thinking up ways to end HIS existence without actually killing him. By the time her tea had cooled to room temperature, the list was quite long and rather detailed.

In fact, by that time she was actually cataloguing the ideas into order of possible pain inflicted. That was just the kind of girl Hermione was – methodical and logical.

Except, perhaps, when it came to Harry and his social life.

Then all logic and thought went flying right out the window and she turned somewhat … homicidal, for lack of a better word.

He had a date. The dratted man had a date.

And she was quite attractive, too, according to Ron.

Hermione wasn't sure who she wanted to kill – Harry, for actually going on the date, or Ron, for telling her about it.

Or alternatively herself for caring so damn much.

When had it all gotten so complicated? When had her oh-so-logical existence been turned upside down by the idea of a DATE? It was very, very upsetting. Oh yes, she remembered – when he walked into her life, all cute and Harry-like, with his broken glasses and messy hair and those bewitching green eyes …

"Holy cricket!" Hermione declared suddenly, rather out of nowhere. "This is getting bloody ridiculous! I'm going mad!"

It was Ron who had the good fortune of walking in on her while she was immersed in such deep and reflective thoughts. He caught the remark – he was sure mountain climbers in the Swiss Alps had heard it too, considering the volume – and shot a sideways glance around the kitchen, wondering who she could possibly be talking to. Seeing the kitchen devoid of any living thing aside from Hermione herself, he raised a speculative eyebrow.

By now, Hermione had pushed off the counter and was opening and shutting cupboard doors at random, her disjointed ramblings continuing as she did so.

"Absurd. I can't be – how DARE he!" she shouted finally, slamming the pantry door shut with a decided bob of her head. "IT'S NOT BLOODY FAIR!"

Having remained silent through this intriguing display of impending insanity, Ron decided it was time for him to make a move before Hermione managed to inflict permanent damage to herself – or to the unassuming cupboard doors.

"Hullo Hermione," he chirped cheerfully.

Hermione started violently and whipped around. "Ron!"

"Having a bad morning, are we?" Ron asked, helping himself to Hermione's abandoned toast. As he took a bite, he wrinkled his nose. He looked down at the lite cream cheese spread and shuddered. "Ack! Hermione, why do you insist on subjecting yourself to this … healthy stuff?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, momentarily forgetting her dilemma. "Did I ask you to steal my breakfast?"

Ron shrugged and poured himself a cup of tea. Both Harry and Ron had spent the last week getting incredibly comfortable on her couch and raiding her pantry. A glance in the direction of her pantry confirmed that she should make an effort to do some shopping before she had to resort to frozen dinners.

Hermione glanced at her watch and then peered curiously up at Ron. "Ron, it's eight o'clock in the morning. Why are you still here?"

"Dun haff ta go in til 'leven," he said around a mouthful of toast. "Goff damorn'n off."

Luckily Hermione had been privy to Ron's eating habits for a very long time and was adequately versed in Mouth-full-of-food-ish, so she understood what he was saying without any relative difficulty.

"Well, I'm off to work in about fifteen minutes," she said as she tossed the remainder of her toast in the rubbish bin. "Try not to make a shambles out of my kitchen."

"Yes ma'am," Ron said with a mock salute. He grabbed another piece of toast and eyed it judiciously and, apparently pleased that it contained no hint of lite cream cheese, bit into it.

"Boys," Hermione muttered as she ducked into her room and grabbed her bag.

Just as she was backing out the door, a small owl came swooping in through the open window and dropped a letter on her quilt.

"Pig!" Hermione said in slight surprise. Pig had certainly gotten older – but he certainly hadn't gotten any less rambunctious or much larger come to that. He was still little more than a ball of grey feathers and excitement. He hooted happily and zoomed around near the ceiling, circling the overhead light.

Hermione grabbed the letter and tore open the envelope. A single slip of parchment slid out. Hermione recognised Ginny's elegant script (in bright purple ink, no less) and her brow furrowed slightly. She'd seen Ginny only three days ago – what news could she possibly have to divulge?

_Hermione,_

_Going to Gloria's Gown Emporium this afternoon.__ I saw the most scrumptious dresses in the Summer Catalogue. Would you care to join me? Owl me if it's a yes and I'll be at the Museum at __four o'clock__ and we can go from there. If it's a no, I'll still be at the Museum at __four o'clock__. You're not getting out of this, no excuses – it's your duty to be there._

_Hugs,_

_Ginny_

_P.S. I've got a date with Neville at six, so don't be late._

Ah, of course it could only be related to wedding gowns.

Only three weeks had passed since the engagement had been announced and Ginny had been scouring every dress shop in Diagon Alley – and dragging Hermione along for the ride. They'd even made a special trip into Hogsmeade to visit Mademoiselle Chic, a trendy new wizarding dress shop. But to no avail. The perfect dress had thus far eluded Ginny's perfectly manicured hands.

Hermione scribbled a quick reply on a scrap of parchment and tied it to Pig's leg. She knew there was absolutely no point to replying in the negative. Ginny was nothing if not persuasive when she wanted something and besides, Hermione felt that she could certainly use the distraction.

"Now Pig, this goes straight to Ginny," Hermione told the hooting ball of feathers in her hand. Pig hooted happily before speeding back out the window, zigzagging around chimney tops and lamp posts.

There was a crash from the kitchen and Hermione whirled around.

"HERMIONE!" Ron yelled suddenly. "I think your crimowave is broken!"

It took Hermione a moment to decipher exactly what a crimowave was. "Oh, leaping lizards!"

The kitchen was a mass of smoke and held the distinct smell of burnt plastic. Ron was standing in the middle of the kitchen, a tea towel over his nose, looking sheepishly at the melted remains of Hermione's microwave. There were smudges of ash on his cheeks.

"I didn't do it," Ron said empathetically after a long moment of silence in which the two stared at each other, then at the counter, and then back at each other. "It blew up by itself, I swear."

"Blew up by itself?" Hermione said slowly.

Ron nodded and said, rather vehemently, "They're dangerous things these crimowaves."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. It was nice to know that some things never changed.

* * *

When she'd ducked into Diagon Alley for a spot of tea and a light lunch, the last person she expected to see was Harry. Actually, seeing Harry wasn't quite the problem – the problem was tall, blond, and incredibly pretty, and it was hanging onto Harry's arm for dear life.

Her name was Amber Aurelius (a name which was now imprinted firmly in Hermione's mind thanks to Ron) and Harry was grinning like an idiot.

Hermione, on the other hand, was definitely not.

She'd been happily reading the Daily Prophet when she'd caught a glimpse of that familiar shock of dark hair in the crowd. Hermione had been too happy to be irked at the fact that she had Harry radar, and had almost instinctively lifted her hand to get his attention. And that's when she noticed the girl at his side, smiling vacuously up at him with an adoring look on her pretty face.

Hermione attempted, rather unsuccessfully, to hide behind her newspaper but to no avail. Harry had already seen her and was weaving through the diners and coming her way.

Oh bugger, Hermione thought dismally.

As the couple made their way across the room, diners were turning around (and occasionally parting like the Red Sea) and staring, wide-eyed, at the infamous Harry Potter and the beautiful blond at his side. A woman seated at the table next to Hermione appeared close to hyperventilating. It would only be a matter of time before people started asking for autographs.

Wonderful.

She plastered as cheerful a smile as she could muster on her face (admittedly it wasn't that cheerful) and put her newspaper down. She was careful to keep her hands away from her cup of tea as she wasn't quite sure if she could stop herself from tipping the entire contents onto the blonde's stylish white dress. Accidentally of course, Hermione was quite a klutz. It was a pity, really, that she wasn't drinking coffee.

"Hullo Hermione," Harry greeted her with a slow smile and a sparkle in his eyes.

Much to her consternation, Hermione couldn't help but smile back. Oh yes, she was certainly a lost cause.

"Hi, Harry."

The girl gave Hermione an arching glare and then proceeded to run her bright red fingernails along Harry's shirtsleeve. "Harry," she said sweetly. "I'm just going to freshen up. Could you be a dear and order me a Huffleberry tea and a poached Pernuckle salad. I'm simply famished!"

Harry smiled and nodded. Amber whirled around and shimmied – yes, she was actually shimmying Hermione realised – toward the restroom. Several sets of male eyes followed her progress through the coffee shop and, Hermione couldn't help but notice, women, too.

Surprisingly enough, Harry wasn't one of them. He took a seat beside Hermione and absently plucked a chip from her plate.

"Catching up on your gossip?" he asked cheerfully, eyeing the newspaper.

Harry had a rather healthy disdain for the wizarding newspaper. All things considered, she couldn't really blame him for that. Despite his rather reserved personality, Harry still found himself surrounded by reporters and flashing cameras. Of course, he hadn't exactly chosen the most inconspicuous profession, but still, constant hounding would be enough to give anyone a complex.

"They have improved somewhat," Hermione said, taking a sip of her tea. "Not one mention of you today. No paternity suits, no mysterious girlfriends, no upcoming weddings … Well, at least not on the front page anyway."

Harry grimaced. Hermione knew that he hadn't picked up a single publication in months – no magazines, newspapers, leaflets or even an advertising brochure – not since the last time the Daily Prophet had featured an eight page spread on Harry's underwear and the girls that collected it. Harry was still unsure as to how they'd gotten the articles in the first place.

"I do all my own laundry, Hermione," he'd said at the time, eyes wide and face pale as he skimmed the rather long and wordy article. "How could they – hey! This girl has my flying snitch boxers!"

Hermione had briefly entertained thoughts of the said boxers and the wonders therein, but had been distracted by Harry hyperventilating into his crumpets. "And my … oh, dear GOD, Hermione!"

It had been a rather intriguing article for all concerned. Except perhaps for Harry of course …

Pushing thoughts of Harry and his underwear aside, Hermione now focused on the folded newspaper. "Oh look," she said brightly, noticing a headline on the very last page. "I was wrong. You are in the paper. Miss Christina d'Arte of Middlebury, Liverpool has just had your baby. Wait a second … oooh, it's twins." She looked up at Harry and smiled. "Congratulations!"

Now Harry was looking at the newspaper as though it were a particularly nasty Potions Master. His hand lingered around his pocket, dangerously close to his wand.

Harry occasionally had a rather tenuous grasp on his temper and he was currently looking as though he'd like to perform an Unspeakable on the newspaper in question. And that simply wouldn't do. She'd paid good money for that piece of drivel and had every intention of reading it.

"Harry," Hermione said, sliding the newspaper into her lap and out of sight. "Illegitimate twins aside, shouldn't you be over there ordering a Huffleberry salad and Pernuckle tea or something?"

"Twins? But I … can't … why me?" Harry stuttered for a moment, ignoring her question. He then shot Hermione, who was trying desperately hard not to laugh, a dangerous glare. "And you! You're enjoying this, aren't you? You've been spending too much time with Ron, my girl. Way too much time."

"Oh come on, Harry," Hermione said, unable to hold back a laugh. She reached across the table and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "No one believes this rubbish anymore. No one is stupid enough to do so."

At that moment Miss Amber Aurelius decided to make her reappearance.

"Harry," she said slowly.

"Oh, you're back," Harry said, glancing up, still looking decidedly troubled.

Amber gave an absent nod, her attention focused elsewhere. She arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow and stared significantly at the clasped hands atop the table. Then her gaze snapped to Hermione and her blue eyes flashed.

"Amber Aurelius," she said icily, holding out a pale and perfect hand to Hermione. "Harry's date."

Hermione barely batted an eye. "Hermione Granger," she said with the same polite iciness. Why should she wilt in the presence of such prettiness? She was there first, damn it! "Harry's best friend."

"Pleasure."

"Certainly."

Both girls shared chilly, almost arctic, glares and then promptly turned to Harry as one.

Harry, who had been eyeing the newspaper contemplatively, was completely oblivious to this display of female territorialism until he felt Hermione's hand slide away. He looked up and was startled to find that two sets of eyes were staring intently at him.

It took him a moment to recover – a part of his mind was still blissfully storming into the Daily Prophet offices in Diagon Alley and hexing everyone in sight. Try as he might, however, he simply couldn't imagine why Amber was looking particularly murderous at that moment. Perhaps it was just the unflattering lighting?

"I have to go," Hermione said abruptly, standing up. The newspaper, which had been sitting forgotten in her lap for the last several minutes, slid to the floor with a dull thud.

Three sets of eyes focused on the large lettering on the back page.

_It's a Boy … And A Girl! Christina d'Arte reveals: 'Harry Potter is the father of my beautiful babies!'_

Amber blinked in surprise.

A nerve in Harry's eye twitched.

Hermione bit her lip in an effort not to laugh.

She scooped up the newspaper and tossed into the safe confines of her bag.

"Miss Aurelius, it was lovely to meet you," Hermione said pleasantly. Then she grinned at Harry and continued blithely. "It's your turn to cook dinner tonight. Ron's already destroyed the microwave so please make an effort not to burn down the kitchen."

Then without further ado, Hermione waved jauntily and made her way out of the café, worries forgotten. Miss Little White Dress could never hope to keep up with the intricate web of insanity that was hers, Ron's and Harry's life. Oh yes, Hermione acknowledged, her bookwormish self was evil.

Evil and downright delighted, come to that.

Harry stopped twitching long enough to call after her, completely bewildered. "Ron did what?"

* * *

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione straightened up in surprise and promptly slammed her head into a solid block of polished oak.

"Ouch!" she yelped, rubbing the side of her head.

She crawled out from beneath the antique desk, muttering curses and rubbing her head, and peered around at the fireplace. Yellow and red sparks were shooting out into the hearth and the disembodied head of Mr Clovis Kellowna was revolving around the green flames.

"Ah, there you are Miss Granger. How's the research going?"

Still rubbing her head, Hermione sat back on her knees and absently pushed her hair off her face. "Wonderful," she said wryly. She grimaced as her fingers encountered a fairly large bump on her skull. "I've almost broken through all the charms. It's quite a piece of work."

"And so it should be, my dear!" Mr Kellowna exclaimed animatedly. "Such an historical magical treasure, Miss Granger, could only be sustained through very powerful magic."

Hermione smiled at the old man's vivacity and enthusiasm. Mr Kellowna, the esteemed Curator of The Museum of Magical Antiquities had a passion for magical history unparallel to anything Hermione had ever encountered in another human being. He was the foremost expert in the History of Magic and knew more or less everything there was to know about every magical artefact in the world.

"Is there something I can do for you, Mr Kellowna?"

"What? Oh yes, yes. A friend of yours has just Apparated into the lobby. Shall I show him into your office?"

"Oh, yes, thanks Mr Kellowna. I'll be right up."

"Righty-oh!" Mr Kellowna said cheerfully.

Shaking her head at the oddity that was, lets face it most of the older generation of wizards, but particularly Mr Kellowna, Hermione ducked back under the desk and swept up several sheets of parchment, a quill and her wand. She'd spent the better part of the hours after lunch breaking through wards and charms and getting very dusty. In fact, she'd spent the better part of the last three weeks doing the same thing and truth be told, was more than looking forward to the weekend.

Within minutes she'd Apparated into her office and tossed everything onto her desk.

"Gin, sorry I –" she began, turning around. Her brow furrowed. "Harry? What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too," Harry joked. He was sprawled on the comfortable couch pushed up against the far wall of her office, a pink and white checked cushion clasped to his chest.

"Well, I was expecting Ginny," Hermione said, collapsing into the chair behind her desk.

"Had a raunchy girls night out planned?"

"Gin wants to go dress shopping."

"You mean there's a shop you two haven't gone into?" Harry asked, feigning incredulity.

"Apparently … oh dear, is that what I look like?" Hermione had caught her reflection in the antique mirror hanging on the back of her door. She stood up and hurried toward the mirror, pulling at the errant curls around her face. "Harry, why didn't you tell me?"

There were smudges of dirt across her cheek and forehead and her hair was complete disarray.

She moved back to her desk and rummaged beneath the parchment and miscellany that covered every inch of her desk in an attempt to locate her hairbrush. She found it smothered beneath a rather competently forged copy of the _Magickal Alchemical Codex_ and the original, fully animated painting containing Leonardo da Vinci's _Mona Lisa_ (in which the enigmatically smiling woman pulled some rather entertaining facial expressions and wiggled her fingers about teasingly).

Harry glanced at her and grinned charmingly. "On you, smudgy and dirty is cute. I couldn't bring myself to ruin the effect."

"Oh, shut up, Harry."

"Pig," Harry said suddenly.

Hermione paused, somewhat puzzled. "Excuse me?"

Harry straightened up. "At the window."

"Huh?" Hermione turned around. "Oh."

A speck of grey in the distance had caught Harry's attention. A speck that was zigzagging across the clear summer sky and heading right for her open –

_Wait a minute …_

"THE WINDOW!" Hermione cried out sharply, only then remembering that she'd shut her window to let the air conditioning charms take full effect.

Harry, momentarily startled at her cry, looked up, confused. He looked toward the window; his eyes widened in quick understanding and he leapt off the couch and vaulted toward the window and got there –

THUD!

– a little too late.

"Oh no," Hermione yelped, stricken.

She and Harry reached the window at the same time, wands at the ready. Unfortunately the force of the two spells coming from one very agitated witch and one very perplexed wizard was a tad too strong. The window disappeared entirely in a puff of red and gold sparks and a fair amount of noise.

Not bothering with the unexpectedly non-existent window, Hermione scooped a dazed Pigwidgeon off the window sill and cradled him close. "Sorry Pig."

Pig blinked owlishly at her, and shook his head as though to clear it. After throwing a reproachful look at both of them, he hooted once and flew out of her arms. He held out his leg and hooted again. Pig was nothing if not resilient.

Hermione carefully took the scrolled scrap of parchment off his leg. "There's owl treats in my top drawer, Harry."

While Harry rooted through the mess of papers on her desk, Hermione read the short message. Ginny had run into some trouble and would be delayed – "And she told me not to be late," Hermione murmured.

(Hermione would later find out from one very embarrassed intern that the trouble's name happened to be Neville and the trouble-making happened in a storage room on Level Five of the Ministry of Magic. Honestly, would those two never learn?)

By the time Hermione had scribbled back a succinct reply, Pig had recovered admirably and was zooming about and happily crashing into his reflection in the mirror behind Hermione's door. Harry grabbed the zooming ball of feathers and tied the parchment to his leg.

"He's fine," he told Hermione.

"Wonderful. Off you go, Pig," Hermione said, nudging the delighted bird out the window. "Back to Ginny."

Another hoot and Pig had zipped back along over the chimneys and rooftops.

Harry and Hermione watched until he was little more than a grey flicker on the horizon. And they did said watching through a gaping hole in Hermione's office wall.

Harry crossed his arm and stood back, surveying their handiwork with a cocked eyebrow. "Hermione," he informed her slowly. "Your window appears to be missing."

Hermione regarded him inquisitively, hands planted firmly on her hips. "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"Nope," Harry replied cheerfully.

Hermione shook her head. As Harry repaired the decimated wall, she turned back to her desk and grabbed her bag. She then proceeded to haphazardly throw in several books, some parchment, a quill, and that morning's edition of the Daily Prophet. "Is there a particular reason you dropped by or did you just miss me?"

"Missed you, of course."

Hermione couldn't help but feel a slight tingle at the adorable way he said that. Quickly deciding that such fluffy bunny feelings were decidedly counter productive, she schooled her expression into a more suitable one of slight incredulity. "Right …"

"I did!" Harry said earnestly. Then he grinned mischievously. "And I was bored. Wanna do something tonight?"

She slung her backpack over her shoulder. "What about – "

"Amber?" Harry cut her off, grimacing. Hermione nodded and he wrinkled his nose in distaste. "She didn't seem too happy at the prospect of dating a father of two."

Hermione turned her head in an attempt to hide the smile that crept across her face. "So she's a Daily Prophet aficionado, is she?"

"Her father is the editor."

"Ooh …" Hermione said slowly. At the sheepish look on Harry's face, her eyes narrowed and then widened in realisation. "Oh. You gave her the 'Daily Prophet is evil', didn't you?

She and Ron had been on the receiving end of 'the talk' several times, and had found it utterly amusing each and every time. However, she couldn't imagine that the editor's daughter would find it as amusing as she and Ron had.

"Yep. But that was before she told me about her father. Lunch kinda went downhill from that point."

Harry shrugged innocently. "I may also have mentioned that, while I dislike the idea of the Daily Prophet's very existence, I have a lifetime subscription to The Quibbler, a quality publication."

She paused for a moment, her hand on the doorknob, looking somewhat stunned. Then she laughed. "Oh, Harry!"

Harry smiled sheepishly.

Still giggling, Hermione ushered Harry out and locked her door.

Her office, like her apartment, also had various wards and anti-Apparation charms (and the occasional hex and jinx just to be on the safe side) to keep people out, although they weren't quite as powerful. It usually remained unlocked and unprotected during office hours because Mr Kellowna, like Ron, kept forgetting about the wards.

It was a calculated risk, but most people, even wizards, didn't know there was an actual Museum of Magical History let alone it's location.

She muttered an indiscrete, "Guys," just loud enough for Harry to hear and was rewarded with a mischievous smile and a sparkle in his eyes. Hermione was floored for a moment at the amusement in those oh-so attractive green eyes; her insides turned to mush and her knees almost buckled. She decided then and there that she'd have to give Harry up – cold turkey – just for the sake of her sanity. And her knees. She was sure this whole weak-kneed phenomena was would eventually result in a serious injury.

I'll start tonight, Hermione thought to herself. Snuggle up on the couch with Jane Austen and an iced tea and no Harry.

Of course, this cold turkey scenario could present a bit of a problem seeing as they were best friends and all …

"So, you wanna?" he pressed after a moment, following Hermione down the hall and to the elevators.

Hermione again found herself pushing thoughts of Harry out of her head. This was getting to be habit – the man was too much of a distraction. Soon she'd start to lose her perspicacity and then where would she be?

Thus mentally incapacitated, Hermione uttered an inarticulate, "Huh?"

Harry grinned. "My, you are not an afternoon person, are you? Do you wanna do something tonight?"

"Oh, I don't know …"

"Aww," Harry said, smiling enticingly. "Come on. It'll be fun. Better than spending the night with a book, I assure you."

Hermione felt her resolve melt. So much for cold turkey. Then his final words registered and she was slightly taken aback. Could this man really know her that well? Who was she kidding? Of course he could. Seven years at school and then another five in the real world – he must have picked something up in all that time.

By now, they'd reached the entrance hall.

The Museum entrance hall was the only place in the building to legally Apparate or Disapparate. In the Reception Area there was also a portkey to Diagon Alley every half hour, as well as a fireplace connected to the Floo Network. The latter option certainly wouldn't be the best one – with the steaming temperatures outside, she'd be broiled within seconds. Figuratively speaking of course.

"Oh, fine," she acquiesced finally.

Harry brightened considerably. "Great. Lets go."

"Ginny," Hermione reminded him.

"Ah yes," he said thoughtfully. "The dress."

"Yes, the dress," Hermione said. She waved a curt goodbye to Mr Kellowna, who was fiddling with a medieval alchemy display, and led Harry into the Reception Area. "Look, how about you meet me at Florence Fortescue's at six thirty …"

Harry looked crestfallen. "What am I supposed to do until then?"

"Read The Quibbler?" Hermione said cheekily. "Or perhaps the Daily Prophet?"

"Funny Hermione, very funny," Harry glowered. He looked thoughtful for a moment and the he sighed. "I refuse to die of boredom. I'm coming with you."

"But – "

"I'm sure Gin won't mind," he said.

"That's not the problem," Hermione said. She looked up at him, amused. "You do realise that this is a shopping expedition, right? A search for the ever-elusive perfect dress. A wedding dress at that, which thereby means it's a lot more thought and stress involved."

"Yes, I know," Harry replied. "It involves looking at pretty dresses and oohing and ahhing over such stuff as satin, silk, lace, crinolines, pantaloons and whatever else goes on under those huge skirts. I imagine it'll be like that time you and Ginny dragged Ron and me to Madame Malkins for the twins' wedding."

Hermione arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "Well, yes you're probably, but we were also there for your own good. Men cannot be trusted to pick out their own dress robes."

"Well, it worked out fine then," Harry reminded her. "How much trouble can I possibly get into today?"

The moment he said that, Hermione knew he was doomed.

…tbc.


End file.
